


Little Monster

by Lumelle



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Domestic, Kid Fic, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-05-18 02:00:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5893807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lumelle/pseuds/Lumelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek wakes up to witness the unfortunate end of Stiles' favorite hoodie. Before he can worry about Stiles' reaction, though, he has to deal with the one responsible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Monster

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Stilienski](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stilienski/gifts).



> Written as a birthday present for [Stilienski](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Stilienski/pseuds/Stilienski).
> 
> Contains probably far too smushy Derek. You've been warned.

When Derek woke up, he was disoriented enough that it took him a moment to notice the shreds of red fabric on the floor.

When he finally managed to not only see the evidence of destruction, but also comprehend just what it was, he groaned loudly. Those were without a doubt the remains of Stiles' favorite hoodie, the one he should have by all rights thrown away a long time ago, yet he kept insisting it was too comfortable and warm to give up. Well, now it seemed like he wouldn't have any choice. Derek was no expert, but he doubted the pieces could be patched back together with any degree of success, not into something actually wearable, anyway.

Rolling off the couch and onto his feet, he stretched himself, giving a small sigh. Werewolf physique meant he didn't get sore from sleeping in uncomfortable places, not quite, but that didn't mean it didn't take him a moment to limber up after draping himself over some unlikely napping place or another. One might have thought that a couch would be a reasonable place to sleep, but theirs somehow managed to be comfortable enough to sit on that Stiles refused to throw it out, yet absolutely horrid to lie down on.

Come to think of it, Stiles did have a bit of a tendency to hang on to things long after they should have been cast out as utterly hopeless cases. Not that Derek could complain, not really. He was fairly sure that was the only reason he was still around.

Picking up the few pieces he could see at a glance, he made a face as some of them were very clearly damp. No, not even damp, soaked through and through with something he didn't even need his nose to recognize as drool. Well, it wasn't like he had held many doubts about the culprit behind this even before.

Not that it mattered much, really. Derek was the one Stiles was going to kill either way once he got back from his stupid trip, while the true criminal would get away scot-free. No, not even that, she'd probably get a cookie to gnaw on.

"Luna?" He glanced around, but found no sign of the little monster. Well, no sign aside from a few more pieces of the hoodie. His nose wouldn't be much help, not with her scent all over the place, trails criss-crossing through most of the apartment. It was a good thing that she was moving so much, really it was. If he kept telling himself that he'd probably believe it by the time she was old enough for school.

There was no sign of the beast in the living room, nor did he find her as he wandered into the kitchen, though he did locate another piece of what had once been Stiles' hoodie. The nursery and mudroom were likewise empty of life, though an overturned laundry basket at least revealed just how she had gotten her hands on the hoodie in the first place.

When his round of the downstairs came up empty, he checked the obvious routes out. Both the front and back door were empty, and there were no open windows within easy reach, which was good; Stiles might have actually killed him if she had wandered off while he had a nap. Which only left one option that he wasn't much more fond of: Luna had to be upstairs.

Derek was never, ever going to mention this to Stiles. If he did, Stiles would refuse to ever set foot out of the house again and then he would blame Derek for it. For all that Derek often found himself being a tad overprotective — the instincts to protect his pack ran deep, after all — Stiles had Views about little toddlers and unsupervised staircases.

Derek had tried to talk to Stiles the first time this had come up, reassuring him that werewolf children were really a lot hardier than ordinary kids. Then he had made the fatal error of recounting some stories from his own childhood. He'd been about halfway through the second story — a really quite amusing anecdote about Cora, a dead tree branch, and a rock formation positioned just right to shatter a little girl's arm at two different places upon impact — when Stiles had freaked out, told him to shut up, and spent the next week researching charms and spells against every imaginable thing from scratches and bruises to spontaneous combustion.

Derek may or may not have helped him with the spontaneous combustion ward. There were certain risks he wasn't prepared to take.

He wasn't entirely surprised to find a little girl curled up in the middle of their bed, snuffling into Stiles' pillow while gnawing on another piece of the hoodie. The hood itself was still mostly intact, and Luna had drawn it on her head. It made sense, really. The hoodie and the pillow were probably the two things in the house that smelled the most like Stiles.

"Hello there, little monster." He sat on the edge of the bed, running a hand along her back. She was so much bigger than she had been when she was born, and yet still so tiny and fragile. "Went on an adventure without me, huh?"

Luna sniffled, turning watery eyes toward him. "Want Daddy," she sobbed, her voice muffled by the drool-drenched fabric in her mouth.

"I know, Monster, I know." He kept petting her back, feeling somewhat at a loss as to what to do. Stiles was so much better at this kind of thing than he was. Though then, if Stiles had been here, they wouldn't have had this problem. "He'll be back soon, I promise."

"No!" Luna tried to kick at him, though her aim was about as good as could be expected of a child not yet two, and thus missed him by several inches. "Want Daddy!"

"Daddy will be here in a day or two, I promise." Unless whatever magical errand he'd gone on stretched even longer, which wouldn't have been unprecedented. Derek almost wished he'd have gone along, but they had agreed that taking Luna along or leaving behind with a babysitter for several days were both choices they couldn't make. So here was Derek, trying to keep his little girl from crying after her Daddy, while Stiles was off doing something very mystical and magical with Scott or someone.

Derek couldn't really resent Stiles' magical hobbies too much, though, for all that they sometimes took his husband away from him, and that was ridiculous, the pack shouldn't have ever been split like that. After all, without all of that they wouldn't have had Luna, their little monster with Stiles' smile and Derek's fangs and enough mischief for a pack of betas. And for all that Derek sometimes complained about things like smelly diapers — which were much worse for a werewolf nose, obviously, and no Stiles that didn't mean he just had an early warning system for any upcoming emergencies — and late night wake-ups that actually left him falling asleep on the couch in the middle of the day, he would not have traded their little monster for anything.

"Daddy," Luna sniffled and then started crying in earnest, causing Derek to scoop her up in a little bit of a panic. It took a lot of fussing and carrying and a couple of cookies to get her to calm down, and he knew very well what Stiles would have said about him letting her have cookies right before dinner, but frankly, Derek couldn't be bothered to care. By the time half the table was covered in crumbs Luna wasn't crying anymore, and honestly, milk and cookies with his little girl was just about the best thing Derek had tasted since their wedding cake.

Maybe for even longer than that. The cake hadn't actually been that tasty, really, and all things considered Stiles should have just agreed to his idea of a meat cake. It would have been perfect, all their guests would have loved it, and he still couldn't believe he'd actually lost that particular argument.

It was the eyes, he decided, the eyes and that determined little frown that meant Stiles wasn't going to back down no matter how Derek wheedled, reasoned or growled. Derek knew it was a good thing that his husband wasn't afraid of him, he rather appreciated it in fact, but sometimes he couldn't help but cast a wistful thought or two back to the times when Stiles had sometimes at least pretended to be intimidated by him.

Luna was fast asleep by the evening when Stiles called, sounding tired but cheerful, and told Derek they'd wrapped things up early and he'd be back the next day. Derek smiled into the phone and told him this was good, told Stiles that Luna missed him and let him figure out the rest. That was one good thing about Stiles' quick wits, he usually figured out what Derek meant to say even when he couldn't get the actual words out.

Some of the words he wasn't going to say aloud just yet were "Luna shredded your hoodie". Such news were best delivered with an apology gift, perhaps five or so warm, soft, bright red hoodies wrapped with a ribbon, with the bow in the hair of a toddler who was very happy to see her Daddy again. Yes, that was probably Derek's best chance of escaping relatively unscathed from this.

Not that he would mind a little exasperated yelling as long as Stiles was there to do it in person.


End file.
